The whoop, whoop, whoop of the siren wound closer, an eerie warning of problems to come. The wail stopped just outside.
No. The officer was responding to the robbery.
“Cops!” Panic flooded Bonnie’s face as she ran across the room and tugged on Clyde’s arm. “We need to get out of here now.”
Clyde jerked his arm free and jumped onto the counter. He shoved the gun into the nearest teller’s forehead. Without a siren, Bonnie and Clyde would’ve left the bank, giving waiting officers the chance to arrest them. Now, combine their panic with drugs that were known to cause paranoid psychosis, and Skyler faced a full-blown crisis.
Clyde got in the teller’s face. “You press the panic button?”
“No.” Her terrified voice cut to Skyler’s core.
“Then who did?” He stepped along the counter, his sloppy tennis shoes slapping on the Formica as he pointed his gun at the male teller. “You?”
He shook his head, his eyes cutting around the space as if searching for a way out.
“How about you?” Clyde waved his gun at the last teller.
“N-no.”
“One of you had to or the cops wouldn’t be here this fast. I’m going to start shooting you one by one until you tell me who sounded the alarm.”
“No, Clyde,” Bonnie begged. “Let’s get out of here while we can.”
“The cops have to get organized, and this won’t take long.” Clyde lowered his finger to the trigger guard and sneered down at the tellers. “Who’s first?”
The female tellers started sobbing. The male’s face paled. Skyler couldn’t let them pay for her actions.
“Stop!” She came to her feet.
Clyde whipped around. He pointed his weapon at Skyler’s heart, but she didn’t back away.
“It was me. I texted a cop friend of mine,” she said, purposely not mentioning she, too, was a deputy. She held her breath as she waited for him to fire.
He jumped from the counter and marched across the room. She was hyperaware of every second passing while he advanced on her. His baggy jeans whispering. The thump, thump, thump of his shoes. His body odor and foul breath.
Inches away, he pressed the gun into her mouth and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
She resisted gagging on the cold steel and handed over her phone. The acrid smell of burned carbon filled her nostrils. He’d fired this gun before. Maybe it was the same gun used to kill two hostages in California.
Please, God, don’t let his finger slip.
He turned his attention to the phone and woke up the screen. She knew once he discovered her ongoing call to Jake, he’d squeeze the trigger, ending her life. In all her negotiations, she’d never been this close to death. Sweat rolled down her back and beaded above her lip.
“Clyde, c’mon,” Bonnie said. “We stay here any longer and the place will be swarming with cops.”
Yes, Clyde, run. Now. Fast. Down the street and into the arms of my team.
He stared at Skyler’s phone and didn’t respond.
Please, God, don’t let this be the end.
A sick smile spread across Clyde’s thin lips, revealing teeth rotted from a meth addiction and confirming her suspicions of drug use. She braced herself for his finger curling on the metal. The report of gunfire. The weapon jerking in her mouth. Death taking hold.
“Jake, huh,” he said, his sneer widening. “You didn’t just text him—you called him, too.” He lifted the phone to his mouth. “Well, Jake.” He jiggled the gun, and Skyler’s heart threatened to stop beating. “Sorry you hurried on over here. You cost this pretty little lady her life.”
His finger slid to the trigger. “Say buh-bye to Jake, missy. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”
* * *
Adrenaline spurring him on, FBI Agent Logan Hunter approached the police barricade outside the bank robbery in progress. He’d caught the perfect break. He’d just gotten into town, when the call came in about Bonnie and Clyde. His team was en route to the standoff, but as the case agent tasked with bringing in the robbers, Logan was in the right place at a critical moment. True, he still had to convince the local authorities to let him in on the action, but that was a piece of cake.
He paused to take in the scene and plan his approach. He’d been briefed on the unique First Response Squad—a division of the county sheriff’s department—on the way over. He spotted the man who was clearly their commander, Lieutenant Jake Marsh, standing outside their large white command truck. He was talking to the team’s sniper, who was unzipping a rifle case. Both were dressed in the team uniform of black tactical pants and polo shirts, but the sniper added a tactical vest and loaded it with extra ammo.
Marsh, feet planted wide, stood calmly, his focus intense. The sniper was jumpy, his foot tapping on the concrete. As Logan climbed over the barricade, the sniper took off across the street to get into position for a kill shot should it become necessary. Marsh stepped to another team member settling a small orange case on a small robot. Likely a negotiator—an additional negotiator, since Logan had heard that another one was already in the building. The man didn’t rush, but moved with purpose and double-checked each step. Obviously not his first hostage standoff.
The case held a phone connected by a long cable to the command truck and would provide direct communications to the robbers. If the team could get them to take the phone. That was a big if as they wouldn’t need a throw phone if the robbers had answered the bank phone or kept in touch on the inside negotiator’s cell.
As Logan approached, he searched for the bomb expert and the EMT who rounded out the team of six. He found neither and assumed they were in the truck. He headed straight for Marsh.
Marsh looked up, his eyes narrowing.
Logan flashed his badge. “I hear you have a team member inside.”
Marsh’s brows shot toward his thick black hair. “This is your concern, why?”
“Bank robbery.” Logan knew his response was lame, but the bureau’s jurisdiction over bank robberies was his only way into the action. He hoped Marsh played nice and let him participate in the negotiations.
“The investigation is all yours.” Marsh made strong eye contact. “After my team resolves the standoff. Until then, you stand down.”
The lieutenant’s rebuff should have angered Logan. Instead, he respected the guy for standing up to an agent. But Logan had no intention of sitting back. Of letting the locals do their thing when his future promotion at the FBI depended on him arresting Bonnie and Clyde. A promotion that should win him the first hint of respect in his demanding father’s eyes.
“I’m not asking to take charge of the standoff,” Logan said. “But our agency has been tailing this pair for months now. My information could be invaluable in your efforts here.”
“Fine,” Marsh said. “Speak only when asked and you can stay.”
Right. Real team player.
Schooling himself not to get mad, Logan followed Marsh to the mobile command center. The negotiator climbed the stairs after Marsh and Logan trailed them onboard the state-of-the-art truck.
“Everybody,” March called out as he stepped to a communications suite holding three monitors, “the suit is Special Agent Hunter. He’s heading up the bureau’s investigation into Bonnie and Clyde.”
Marsh